While My Eyes Were Closed (26 page)

We have muted the sound – the relentless speculation is more than we can bear – but neither of us seems capable of reaching over for the remote control and pressing the Off button. It is almost as though we feel we should be there for her when they find her. That having failed her so miserably in her short life, we should at least be there for her now in death. I am feeling it now, the sensation I thought I would feel if something had happened to her. It is a combination of acute morning sickness and apprehension. I do not like the feeling, I want to try to shake it off, chase it away. And there is only one way I know how to do that.

I get up. ‘I’m going for a run,’ I say. Alex looks up at me, his eyes big and hollow.

‘What, now?’

‘Yeah. I have to. I have to get away from this.’

He nods and shuts his eyes. I go upstairs to our bedroom and pull on my tracksuit bottoms. I even remember to put on my sports bra before my top. I hurry back downstairs, past the open door of the living room, where I can see Alex sitting with his head in his hands. I feel like such a cow, leaving him like this, but I can’t stop here. If I stay here it will happen. I have to chase it away. I have to run as far as possible as fast as possible and I have to do it now. I grab my trainers, sit for a moment at the bottom of the stairs to do my laces, before opening the front door and stepping outside.

I start off walking, aware that I haven’t done my usual stretches, and build my speed up slowly. I don’t want to run in the streets anyway, it would only attract attention. Neighbours have probably seen me going out the front door as it is, no doubt wondering what the hell I am doing, just as Alex is. My pace quickens as I get to the recreation ground. I see the swings I have pushed Ella on more times than I care to remember, the slide she banged her head on once when she was little, the school that she should have started this week. I realise that I will not be able to stay in this
village if she is dead. It would be like living on the set of her childhood, surrounded by her image at every turn. We will have to move, although I have no idea where to. That will be a massive hassle and Otis will hate it, which will make me feel really bad. And maybe it won’t make any difference where we are anyway; maybe I will still see her face on every swing, in every playground.

I start running. My body feels stiff. I can’t remember the last time I went five days without doing any exercise, probably not since Ella was tiny. I increase my stride and push harder. My heart quickens, my hair streaks back behind me. I run faster still. I like the way it is making me feel: pushing me, stretching me, forcing me to breathe hard. I run to the end of the rec, past the rugby club and out onto the lane. I am comforted by the sound of my trainers on the tarmac, pounding at a steady pace, relentless. I will keep on running, I will never stop. I simply will not let the events of this week catch up with me. If I run fast enough I might be able to make time go backwards, get the world to rewind, never take the call, never agree to let her hide again, never even go to the fucking park.

A Land Rover comes around the bend too fast. I catch the look on the driver’s face as she sees me: shock, terror, guilt, all jostling for position. I throw myself against the drystone wall. She manages to brake in time, shakes
her head and lifts her hand in acknowledgement at me for a second. It was her mistake but she got away with it. Some people are not that lucky.

*

Alex is still sitting on the sofa in front of the TV with his head in his hands when I get back. The BBC News Channel appears to have moved on to something else but Alex has not. I sit down next to him. My body is damp with sweat but it is the hurt seeping from Alex’s pores which overwhelms me.

I stroke his hair. He looks up. For the first time I don’t see any hope in his eyes.

‘What’s he done to her, Lis?’

I look at him, knowing it is my turn to be strong.

‘He might not have done anything. He might not even be involved.’

‘But if he’s not, someone else is.’

‘Whoever it is she’d fight,’ I say. ‘She’d put up such a fight.’

‘I know. It wouldn’t help her, though, would it? Not against a bloke. When I think of how tiny her hand used to look in mine . . .’

I wrap my arms around him, feel his chest heaving.

‘Don’t push me away, will you, Lis? We’re going to need each other to get through this.’

‘I know. I just needed to get out. I feel like I’m suffocating in here sometimes.’

He nods. ‘Did it help?’

‘Only for a few minutes.’

*

I knock on Chloe’s door at lunchtime. I want to get her out of her room. I want to sit down for lunch as a family. What little family I have left.

There is no reply but I go in anyway. I thought it would be different when she came home from uni, that our relationship would start to heal as she tried on adulthood for size and cast off the teenage ‘I hate you’ persona. It hasn’t turned out that way though. Mainly because she still has a reason to hate me, and a bloody good one at that.

Her bedroom is white. Pure and sterile. You could perform surgery in there it is so clean. She lies on her bed reading John Green’s
Looking for Alaska
. She got into him by reading
The Fault in Our Stars
. I didn’t realise what it was about at the time. Afterwards, when I found her sobbing in a heap on the floor, I said I didn’t think it was a good idea for her to go and see the film. She gave me a look of contempt and went anyway, of course, with Robyn. Her eyes were red raw when she came home. I didn’t understand why she did that to herself but I knew far better than to say anything.

I sit on the corner of her bed. She looks up at me. I know what she is asking without her having to say a word and I shake my head. She closes her eyes for a second as if giving silent thanks.

‘It might not have been her, you know,’ I say.

‘Always look on the bright side, eh?’

‘It’s true. Just because they’re looking, doesn’t mean to say it was her.’

She rolls her eyes.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘I’m not a kid, you know. You don’t have to try to protect me like you’re doing with Otis.’

‘We’ve got to keep hoping.’

‘You’re sounding like Alex now.’

‘Well, he’s right.’

‘So why did you go for a run earlier?’

I sigh. ‘I’m not saying it’s easy, I’m just saying we’ve got to try.’

‘Yeah, because everything might turn out OK. She might just have gone off with her fairy godmother to Disneyland.’

‘Please don’t, Chloe. Not now.’

‘Why, because it hurts? Well, welcome to my world. What took you so long to get here?’

‘Look, I know this is hard for y—.’

‘No, you don’t. You have no fucking idea at all.’

She picks up her book again and pretends to start reading. Her eyes are so moist I’m not sure she’ll be able to make out any of the words. I want to say something, the right thing. But I don’t have good form on that, especially not with Chloe. So I stand up and say, ‘Lunch is downstairs if you want it,’ instead.

*

We have barely finished lunch when Tony arrives, still in his overalls.

‘What are you doing here?’ I ask.

‘Lunch hour. Boss says to take as much time as I want.’

‘Can I get you a brew, Tony?’ asks Claire.

‘Nah, you’re all right.’

Tony has never been known to refuse a cup of tea in his life. Claire gets the message and goes off to join Alex in front of the TV.

‘Any news?’ he asks.

I shake my head.

‘Fucking pervert. Should never have been allowed out for whatever it was he did in the first place.’

‘We don’t know it’s him.’

‘Well there’s not exactly a long list of suspects, is there?’

‘He’s got an alibi. His mother says he was at home.’

‘And you buy that, do you? Look how many times Mum covered up for me when I was in trouble.’

‘That’s cos she’s soft and for some reason she thought the sun shone out of your arse. But you know she wouldn’t have covered up for something like this.’

Tony shakes his head and looks at me. ‘You can’t go on kidding yourself. I know it’s hard but you’ve got to face up to what’s happened, Lis, we all have.’

‘So you think she’s dead, is that what you’re saying?’

Tony shuts his eyes and shuffles his feet. ‘Well it’s not
looking good, is it? She’s been missing five days and not a single sighting until now.’

‘Maybe someone’s got her locked up somewhere.’

‘Yeah, maybe. But I tell you this, if that bastard Taylor knows what’s good for him he’d better spill the beans pretty sharpish.’

*

I have just got out of the shower the next morning when Claire rings.

‘No news,’ she says, knowing better than to start a phone conversation with me with anything else. ‘We’re still holding Taylor but we’ve got absolutely nothing on him. There’s something I need to tell you, though.’

‘Go on.’

‘Someone put a brick through the window of Taylor’s house in the early hours. His mum wasn’t injured – she was asleep upstairs – but she’s pretty shaken up. We’ve sent officers round there now to take a statement.’

‘Oh Jesus.’

‘I’m really sorry, Lisa, but you probably know what I’m going to say next.’

‘You think it’s one of us.’

‘No, but it’s going to be the first thing the investigating officers ask me when they get back. Do you think Tony might have . . . ?’

I sigh. ‘I don’t know, Claire. I don’t know anything
any more. But just give me half an hour if you can and I’ll find out.’

*

I park outside Mum and Dad’s house and call Tony on his mobile. I feel bad doing it because I know what he is going to think the second he sees my name come up on the screen, but I don’t want to knock and have to do this in front of Mum and Dad.

‘It’s OK. There’s no news,’ I say as soon as he answers, ‘but I need to talk to you. I’m outside. Please come down quietly and let me in.’

I get out of the car and walk over to the front door wishing I didn’t have to ask this and suspecting I already know the answer I am going to get.

A few moments later the door opens. Tony is standing there in his boxers and a T-shirt.

‘What the fuck’s going on?’ he asks as I step inside.

‘I was hoping you were going to tell me that.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Someone put a brick through the window of Taylor’s house early this morning.’

‘Good for them.’

‘Don’t play games, Tony.’

‘You think I fucking did it?’

I gesture to him to lower his voice. ‘Last time I saw you, you were mouthing off about how he should never have been let out of prison.’

‘Well, yeah, don’t mean to say I’m going to go and brick his house, does it?’

‘Are you saying you didn’t do it? Only the cops are going to be turning up soon and I want to know before they do.’

‘They think it’s me?’

‘Well you’re a pretty obvious suspect.’

‘I’m surprised it was just a brick, to be honest. Would have thought someone would have petrol-bombed it by now.’

‘Don’t piss me about, Tony.’

‘You’re the one who came round here accusing me of summat I didn’t do.’

‘I’ve only got your word for that, haven’t I?’

‘He didn’t do it, Lis.’

I look up to see Dad standing at the top of the stairs in his dressing gown.

‘How can you be so sure of that?’ I ask.

Dad hesitates and walks a few steps down towards us.

‘Because I did it,’ he says.

I stare at Dad as he walks down the stairs, struggling to take in what he has just said.

‘No, you didn’t,’ I say as he reaches the bottom and stands in front of me and Tony. ‘You couldn’t have. You don’t even know where he lives.’

‘I asked around,’ says Dad. ‘It weren’t hard.’ His face is serious. He’s not mucking about. He actually bloody did it. I shake my head and turn to Tony.

‘Did you know about this?’

‘Course I didn’t fucking know about it. I’d have gone with him if I had.’

‘That’s why I didn’t tell you,’ says Dad. ‘It wouldn’t have been fair on your mother.’

‘Oh, so it’s all right for you to get yourself banged up but not him, is it?’ I say.

‘Well someone had to do it, and I’d rather it was me than him who got done.’

I shake my head. ‘You didn’t have to do anything. You could have just left it alone.’

‘How? How could I leave it alone when Ella is missing and this fucking pervert isn’t telling us where she is?’

‘We don’t even know it was him.’

‘Course it was him. And I am not having him sitting there, laughing at us, while the cops are diving in bloody lakes for my granddaughter.’

‘Vince, what’s going on?’ I look up. Mum is standing at the top of the stairs in her nightie, her hair messy, her eyes wide with dread.

‘It’s OK,’ I say. ‘It’s not Ella.’

‘Well what’s all the shouting about? Why are you here?’

‘You’d better tell her,’ I say, turning to Dad.

He looks down at his feet for a moment before looking at Mum. ‘I put a brick through Taylor’s window, that’s all.’

Mum stares at him, a frown creasing her forehead.

‘When?’

‘Early hours of this morning.’

‘But I didn’t hear a thing.’

‘I was hardly going to wake you before I went, was I? See if you’d make me a packed lunch for the journey.’

Mum sits down on the stairs. I can see her hands shaking. ‘But why, Vince? Why would you go and do a thing like that?’

‘Because it needed to be done.’

Mum shakes her head. ‘I don’t understand. Was anyone hurt?’ She looks at me as she says it.

‘No. His Mum was sleeping upstairs. She’s pretty shaken up apparently.’

‘I’m not surprised. You must have put the fear of God up her, Vince.’

‘Good.’

‘What do you mean, good?’ I ask.

‘I wanted to do that. That way she might stop lying to protect that fucking toe–rag of a son of hers.’

‘Oh Jesus.’ I roll my eyes. ‘How could you do something so stupid?’

‘I was doing it for you.’

‘Me?’